Awake and Alone
by GlassAngel
Summary: Once morning comes, Watson's convinced that Holmes forgot about him. Holmes corrects him while fending off the landlady. Holmes/Watson.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I'm not sure who exactly does (I guess Doyle's estate and the movie companies?), but it's not me.**

**Here we go, a month after I started writing it. Minimal editing on this, but I hope you like it anyway.**

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Staring dully at the scarred ceiling, Watson tried to keep his mind occupied somewhere far from Baker Street. He'd been looking forward to this morning, and instead he felt mild anger and more than a little embarrassment with regards to it.

To think he'd believed, in those last moments before he fell asleep, that Holmes would have the common _decency_ to stay the whole night, not leave by morning so that Watson felt as though he'd been paid for…It was horribly rude. It certainly wasn't the kind of thing one friend did to another, not that most friends were in the same situation as he and Holmes were.

Lying with his head tucked securely under Holmes' chin, taking comfort in the sound of his voice and the heat coming off his skin, it was easy to convince himself that Holmes cared for him. Now, lying on the bed, awake and alone, Watson didn't feel quite so sure.

True, part of it had to do with the circumstances. They hadn't had the chance to really become close in a manner besides their friendship in a while. Last month, when a case led them to a rundown inn outside the city, he'd found himself noticing the tiredness in Holmes' smile and the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Voicing those observations led them to the bed, ironically enough, engaged in activities bound to make Holmes even more tired.

In the week it lasted, they always saved nighttime for much-needed sleep, and limited more enjoyable pursuits to times when the case decided to remain stagnant. Then came three weeks of limited contact, during which period their relationship reverted to its previous form with certain, unspoken boundaries due to fear of being found out. Last night Holmes had made it clear he wouldn't stand for another three weeks of such conditions.

A lazy smile curled at the corner of Watson's mouth as he recalled how exactly Holmes had made it clear, despite the fact that he originally hadn't wanted to think of it. He hadn't expected Holmes' approach, which came over an hour after dinner, and it made him feel rather appreciated.

But here he stayed, by all appearances very much not appreciated and quite possibly forgotten. It wasn't unlike Holmes to become occupied with a pursuit once his interest turned to it, and Watson had to consider the notion that he might be the idea left behind.

Likely it was for the best. Watson didn't fancy the thought of going to jail—or of Holmes going, for that matter—due to the illegality of their actions. If they restored their friendship to its former level, they would no longer be in danger of that possibility. No doubt Holmes had realized this; it could possibly account for part of his reasoning in leaving.

Convinced of the logic but still considerably upset at being abandoned, Watson flipped onto his side so he faced the wall, drawing the sheets a little farther up so they touched his chin. A childish gesture, certainly, attempting to block the sting out with a shield of sheets, but he did it all the same. He'd take whatever small comfort he could find at the moment, as it allowed him to save his energy for later, when he would have to pick himself up and move along.

The bedroom door swung open—how had he missed the footsteps on the stairs?—and, of course, it was Holmes. "You're awake already?" he asked Watson, sounding dismayed.

Annoyed at his tone, Watson replied, "I hadn't realized you'd begun stating the obvious, Holmes. I know how you despise it in others. Is it recent?"

"Why the caustic language so early, Watson?" Holmes asked, sounding genuinely baffled. It didn't happen often, and it threw Watson off-center long enough for Holmes to begin drawing conclusions from his lack of response.

"I wasn't aware I'd done anything offensive," Holmes remarked mildly, discarding his slippers. Except for them, he was dressed fit to go walking about the city, which meant he likely had a case to occupy him for some time that day. "Care to share what the issue is?"

After a minute full of silence, Holmes prodded, "Did I wake you up when I went for breakfast, dear boy? I was sincerely trying not to do that. I simply thought your ignoring my question about it was because I hadn't, in fact, woken you."

Watson blinked. "Breakfast?" His stomach ached at the thought of food, forgetting it had been knotted so tightly a minute ago he'd thought he might be sick. He knew how well Holmes could cook, when the occasion arose.

"Breakfast wasn't made already, and I wanted to eat," Holmes mumbled by way of explanation. "There's a portion for you downstairs as well."

"You—" Watson sat up fully and threw an arm across his face, letting out a little laugh. "You were making breakfast?"

Holmes appeared insulted. "Yes, I did, and though it's a rarity it's quite edible. Even Nanny agrees."

Allowing himself to hope he'd only been acting paranoid, Watson kept his arm slung over his eyes. He felt Holmes wrap cautious fingers around his wrist after a minute, and Watson let him gingerly lift his arm away. "You thought I was elsewhere," Holmes said, observing Watson's expression carefully. Watson didn't blame him—Watson likely didn't make much sense to Holmes at the moment.

"Not—not so much elsewhere as not returning," Watson fumbled for an explanation and quickly gave it up. Holmes would figure it out in short order, anyway.

Holmes furrowed his brow. "This is my room, Watson; of course I must return—ah. You believed I wished to discontinue our current state of intimacy." He looked as though he thought he needed a better word for it but couldn't find one.

Instead of trying, Holmes straddled Watson and raised his hand to his hair. "Would you really think that of me?" he murmured, bumping Watson's temple with his nose as he laid a small kiss there.

Watson pressed a kiss to the crook of Holmes' arm, to the bruises and swollen veins marring the soft skin. "I thought you'd left me," he admitted.

"Never," Holmes said simply. A hint of a grin touched his mouth. "As long as you're agreeable, that is."

"Bastard," Watson remarked lightly, tugging Holmes closer. "You know my answer."

The grin came fully out. "Don't I typically know your answers?"

Watson hushed him with a kiss, and among the giddy thrill he felt himself being lowered back onto the mattress. Though the buttons on Holmes' shirt slowed Watson down some, he soon had them undone. Holmes eased his arms out of the sleeves as Watson impatiently slipped his hands under Holmes' undershirt.

Once it was gone, however, Holmes tilted Watson down to the pillow. "Patience, Watson, we have all the time we want," Holmes assured him, kissing him again.

"Mr. Holmes, there's a Lionel Donner downstairs! He says it's urgent, as his wife's vanished—"

Watson froze at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice on the other side of the door, and Holmes yanked his head up to stare at it, aghast.

"Did you lock the door…?" Watson whispered. Holmes shook his head mutely and looked as though he might leap for the door to do so.

"Did you hear me? Urgent, he says! She apparently has a chronic condition and can't left alone for long. Mr. Holmes, are you even listening to me? If you're in there and ignoring this—"

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, and Watson felt immediately grateful for Holmes' current position, which blocked the most important areas from view. Still, he wished he had his clothes on, as it was distinctly awkward being caught with his lover by the landlady.

Holmes' fingers spasmed against Watson's shoulder, betraying his momentary panic at being caught. More obviously, Watson's cheeks took on a pink tinge that, to his further embarrassment, didn't stop there. Holmes saw the flush, flicked his eyes to Watson's appreciatively, and returned his gaze to Mrs. Hudson.

Other than the nearly undetectable motion of his fingers, Holmes showed no signs of concern or remorse. "Lionel Donner, you say? The barman?" Holmes asked, drawing himself up straight. He began rubbing his thumb along Watson's arm in small, soothing circles that Mrs. Hudson couldn't see, letting Watson know he'd already thought of an idea to avoid the trouble. Though Watson couldn't imagine what it was, he relaxed slightly at the knowledge.

Mrs. Hudson blinked, obviously expecting his comment to be about how she'd found them. "Yes, the barman. Why?"

"I saw his wife purchasing a dress yesterday evening, along with the wife of one of my clients. She's not kidnapped, just avoiding him. Isn't her name Martha?"

"I'll tell him," Mrs. Hudson said, sounding reluctant to pass along the news. "About you two—"

"May I make a request first?"

"If you like," she said, a dry note creeping into her voice. Watson couldn't blame her for her exasperation at being interrupted.

"I understand that you hold a citizen's duty in reporting criminal activity, but would you leave the good doctor's name out of it? He's useful in society, doctoring and all. Please," he added belatedly, as though he'd only just remembered he should say it when asking for a favor. Knowing Holmes, he probably had.

Of all things, Watson hadn't expected Holmes' method to merely be getting him out of trouble. "Holmes," Watson hissed, but a light jab in his waist silenced him.

"I consulted you through the door, didn't I?" Mrs. Hudson said blandly.

The expression on Holmes' face turned to one of immense relief. "Thank you, Nanny. We are thoroughly in your debt."

"Please do try to be more discreet in the future, however," she said. Though she phrased it politely, it was clear that it was an order. "Do that and I won't meddle. Remember to lock the door next time, Mr. Holmes."

Watson nudged him, but he looked so stunned that Watson had to answer. "He will, Mrs. Hudson. You have our thanks."

"Why did she address that last to me?" Holmes complained the instant the door shut. "After that I will most assuredly lock the door every night. Mornings as well, if necessary. She doesn't need to _remind_ me."

Watson's stomach clenched with surprised pleasure at the promise in Holmes' words. "I know. Lock it for now, would you?"

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "You don't want breakfast? I told you I made an extra portion for you."

"Later. Breakfast can wait."

Watson was entirely sincere, and it showed in his expression. Holmes grinned and bent down to kiss him, muttering, "It certainly can."

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**Reviews are hugely welcomed, as I appreciate every one. Thanks for reading!**


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